


Fool's Paradise

by Mossgreen



Series: 2770 ab urbe condita [39]
Category: 2770 ab urbe condita - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Conversations, M/M, Master/Slave, POV switch, Panic Attacks, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 00:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16963956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossgreen/pseuds/Mossgreen
Summary: What happens if things go just a bit too far and Ven is pushed to breaking point?





	Fool's Paradise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Imperial_Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imperial_Dragon/gifts), [Snowhare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowhare/gifts).



> AlleynaArts has done a lovely sketch of Ven [here](https://www.deviantart.com/alleynaarts/art/Ven-At-Lararium-792841248). Please go and kudos/compliment her [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18386198) if you don't have a DA account.

Ven was chained between the two pillars in the training room, spread-eagle, his arms above his head and spread out, with enough slack that he would not injure himself. His back was already throbbing from the warm-up flogging Master had administered. 

He was facing the garden, the late afternoon sun making Priapus gleam slightly golden. With his back to the room and its implements, he didn't know what Master had chosen or what was going to come. The crack of a whip, a single-tail, made him flinch, sending his thoughts and emotions reeling, spiralling away from him. He began struggling in his bonds, pulling in earnest, desperate to get away from the thoughts of blood, pain, punishment. He hadn't done anything wrong, he'd been good, he'd done his utmost to be good, couldn't Master see that? What was he supposed to correct, to do better?

He struggled, frenzied, panicking and desperate.

Drusus dropped the whip. He had never seen his boy like this, fighting like a cornered animal and he felt slightly sick that he had pushed him too far. He went to Ven. It would normally be a simple matter to unclip the cuffs from the solid eye-bolts, but Ven was panicking too much, pulling too hard and frenziedly, uncoordinated, desperate. 

"Pet."

There was no response to the word, no reaction. It felt like forever before he could unclip the quick-release snaps, pulling his shaking, hyperventilating slave firmly into his arms, although it could only have been a few seconds. Ven was wide-eyed, still struggling, against his master now, apparently uncomprehending, as Drusus got them to the couch in the corner, reaching one-handed for the folded blanket as he sat down, pulling Ven down into his lap.

Ven just went with him, looking terrified, eyes darting around looking for a way out as Drusus shook the blanket out and spread it over him, pulling Ven tight against him, willing the panicked shivering to subside. His own heart was racing, but his more immediate concern was Ven, his beautiful, gorgeous boy, who was breathing hard, like a terrified rabbit.

"Ven, calm down. Stop fighting me, Ven. Breathe. Breathe."

Ven was still shivering, although the struggling had stopped, allowing him to tangle a hand in Ven's sweat-drenched dark hair. He had curled up now, his instincts apparently telling him to protect himself somehow. The breathing was still short, sharp, shallow. Too shallow.

"Calm down, pet. You're my good boy and I've got you. Breathe for me, in and out. In and out, that's it."

Eventually, Ven's breathing grew more regular and less sharp and shallow. He stilled under the hand in his hair, uncurling and relaxing until Drusus thought he had fallen asleep, only for Ven to shift position, turning onto his back and looking up at him from wide green eyes, that looked suddenly fearful as they sought something in his master's face, and then moved to focus on his arm and the new bruise that was forming on the inside of his elbow.

At least Ven was afraid of him, personally, now, and not terrified out of his mind at something beyond himself.

"I... I hit you, Master," he managed, his face crumpling in fear, a far more solid concrete emotion than the wild panic of a few moments before. The green eyes lifted to meet blue, momentarily, before dropping submissively. "I'm sorry – I'm so sorry, please..."

Ven began shaking again, this time with emotion as tears spilled from his eyes. Drusus reached for the box of tissues on the side-table and pressed some into Ven's hands, recognising the drop for what it was.

"It's all right, you were panicking, it wasn't deliberate," he said, still stroking the damp hair. Ven gave a sob and buried his head in his master's lap, his hands coming up to fist themselves in his tunic, a drowning man clinging to anything that would keep him from slipping under.

Eventually, the sobs grew less and the bare shaking shoulders stilled. Ven still lay with his head in his master's lap, as though scared to move, to risk his master's displeasure and the censure that would accompany it. He had to move in the end, though, and his initial instinct – to go to his knees on the floor – was prevented by the hand in his hair which tightened on his scalp as he made the first hesitant move away, though it went back to caressing as he stilled. He twisted onto his side and Drusus looked down at the tear-stained face next to the damp patch on his tunic.

"I'm sorry, I ruined your plans and your schedule, Master," Ven said, looking utterly miserable. "I've never... I never... I..." 

He fumbled his hands from where they were clutching the blanket and covered his face.

"You're my good boy, Ven," Drusus told him, the dark hair soft under his hand as he smoothed it back from Ven's forehead. "I scared you, and I didn't mean to, pet. I should have thought, a slave brought up on a country estate in Campania isn't going to react well to a single-tail. I just wasn't thinking."

"You didn't _know_ , Master," Ven managed, hiccuping, the words muffled. "I never... I didn't mean to be so... it was so stupid..."

"Your reactions were because of my mistake, pet, you are not to blame for that."

"But I should have... I want to be good for you, Master – I can be good for you." He moved to get up, only subsiding again as Drusus tightened his arm around him.

"You _are_ , pet. You're my good boy, always."

Ven lowered his hands to his mouth, a timid but hopeful expression on his tear-streaked face. 

"Now, let me get these off you." Drusus took first one, then the other, of Ven's wrists in his hands to remove the cuffs, setting them aside. "Sit up, let's get the ankle cuffs off too."

Those were harder to remove, simply because of positions, but it was only a minute or so before they were set aside with the others and Drusus touched the intercom button. 

"A mug of hot chocolate to be in my room for Ven, and Willow to tidy up in here," he told the slave who appeared in the doorway, and realised that the cameras were still recording. He reached for the remote and turned them off; he would find something else to upload to his channel this week.

* * *

_The following week_

Something was off when he woke. He had fallen asleep with his boy in his bed, as usual, but he was on his own now. There were no sounds from the en-suite that indicated his pet was there – though it was entirely possible he had gone to use the slaves' ablution block, of course. There were the usual sounds of a slave in the atrium, cleaning or something. Very quiet voices...

Varius Metellus threw the covers back and got out of bed. It was ridiculously early; the clock on his bedside table informed him that it was only four-forty. He crossed the room to the door and looked into the atrium. The _lararium_ spotlight was on, as it would be for the slave taking care of it. There was one slave there, head properly covered with one of the linen veils. And a nondescript blanket-covered lump.

He crossed the expanse of floor towards them. The standing slave – one of the kitchen staff, Drusus thought – turned, gave a startled yelp, and dropped to his knees, head bowed. Drusus ignored him, focussing on the blanket – the pretty soft sage-green one that normally covered Ven's cot in the corner of Drusus' bedroom.

"Ven?"

There was a convulsive shiver and Ven's head emerged, hair gone fluffy and messy. He looked tired and nervous. Drusus wasn't sure what his slave saw in his face but Ven shifted a little, backing away into the corner.

Drusus sighed. "You need something."

There was the tiniest nod, then shake of the head.

"Come here."

There was another convulsive shiver and Ven pressed further into the corner, his expression turning from nervous to scared.

"I am not about to deny you the sanctuary of my own household gods, Ven. Nor do I have any wish to play Twenty Questions. We are in the way here. Now. Let's go back to my room where we can talk like civilised human beings and if you need to come back here afterwards, you may. With no consequence."

Nervous green eyes, luminous in the soft yellow light, searched his face out. Drusus waited, until there was the smallest nod and then turned to the waiting kitchen slave. "Devotions can wait five minutes. Bring a cup of hot milk to my room – and a pot of coffee, if there's water."

The slave seemed about to protest that he wasn't a house-slave but thought better of it. "Yes, Master."

He turned and headed back to his room. The orders had been given and would be carried out without him needing to say or do anything further, and the world would continue to turn.

What to do about Ven, though? There was no denying that he had messed up last week and his pretty boy was suffering because of it. Physical suffering was one thing; Drusus enjoyed that, liked inflicting it – seeing the skin change colour under his ministrations, hearing all the pretty noises his boy made, the way his lip caught between his teeth at certain times despite Ven's training. The gasps and moans and whimpers and the way he struggled with himself to just allow his master to exert his ownership and virility... that was special, and he treasured it.

This went much further than that. There had been real fear in that tiny flinch away, and Drusus was furious with himself for causing it. But showing that anger would only harm his boy further – and if there was anything he did not wish to do, it was to harm his slaves.

He flipped the light on and sank into his chair. Ven appeared in the doorway only seconds later and initially seemed to want to go to his knees beside him. Drusus caught his arm, gently, and pulled him into his lap instead. He was still naked beneath the blanket clutched tightly around himself, the way he slept every night. 

"How long were you there for?" he asked, wrapping his arms around his boy as Ven's head dropped tiredly onto his shoulder.

"I don't... I don't know, Master. Most of the night, I think."

Drusus let out a breath. There was one question he had to ask, no matter how little he wanted to hear the answer. If a slave sought the safety of the _lararium_ , there was generally only one reason for it. "Do you want me to sell you, Ven?"

The head came up from his shoulder then, a look of panic in the green eyes. "No! No, please! I want... I want... I just want to be yours, Master. Your good boy?" 

Ven's voice broke on the last word and tears spilled from his eyes as Drusus pulled his head back down to his shoulder again.

"Despite everything I do to you?"

There was a movement on his shoulder that he took to be his pet nodding his head. "I don't like it all, Master but... I know I'm safe. With you."

"Until I made a mistake, last week."

"You didn't... you didn't _know_ , Master – you couldn't have known."

"Did you know, pet?"

There was no answer forthcoming immediately, and Drusus wondered if he would have to repeat the question, something he almost never did. A sideways glance informed him that Ven was thinking; his forehead furrowed in concentration.

"No-o. I've never..." A tiny shrug, one shoulder lifting an infinitesimal amount under the blanket.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Master?" The head lifted again, Ven's expression one of disbelief that his master would even care what his slave might or might not want to say.

Drusus said nothing, merely arching an eyebrow.

"I just... I needed time to think, Master. To... process. That's all."

The other slave – Chrestus? - came in with the tray then, putting it down and pouring a cup of coffee. He was not as neat in his movements and service as the trained house-slaves, but he was most of the way there. Drusus made a note to tell Willow to train him – there could never be enough trained slaves in a house and it would be a way for him to earn extra _pecūlium_. He absently flicked his fingers in dismissal, his attention taken by the boy in his lap.

He smiled to himself. Despite his fondness for calling Ven his boy or his pet, the slave was a grown adult, though still a child in all the ways that mattered, as all slaves were – under the authority of their masters and with as little autonomy as any freeborn child before they came of age. Less, really; freeborn children were considered to be legally people, even if under the authority of a _paterfamilias_.

"And have you thought and processed, pet?"

Another nod. 

"Well?"

Ven swallowed. "I... I want to be good, for you. And last week... I wasn't. So I'm sorry about that, truly. But.... may I speak freely, Master?"

Drusus' eyebrow arched again; that was something he didn't recall his pet ever asking before. "You may."

"You have such... high standards... for us – your slaves, I mean. And for yourself. And when _we_ mess up, make a mistake, you punish us. Of course."

"Of course," Drusus agreed, dryly.

"So... you're punishing yourself, for making a mistake. Only, when we get punished, once it's over with, you don't mention it again, you don't think about it again. So we don't, either."

"What is your point, boy?"

Ven lifted his head. "You haven't done anything with me since, not the way you usually do."

"You're missing it, are you?"

"Whether I miss it or not isn't the point, Master. _You_ miss it. I messed up, I panicked – but it wasn't because of you, it was the whip. I trust you – I have to trust you. And I _can_ trust you, Master – you stopped, didn't you?"

"Are you trying to talk me back into using you for my demonstrations, pet?"

Ven shrugged again. "I don't know, Master. I don't like them but – that's beside the point. I can take it. You always... you've always looked after me, when you've finished whatever it was." 

Drusus reached for the mug of milk, pressing it into Ven's hands.

"You're looking after me now," he added, accepting it.

"So what do you advise, then, pet?"

"Punishments don't last forever, Master, and then things go back to normal. You... Things should go back to normal. Because I don't – none of us slaves – know what to do if it doesn't. It's like walking on eggs." The last was spoken so quietly, almost resentfully, that Drusus was certain Ven hadn't meant to speak it aloud and might not even have realised that he _had_. 

"Eggs?"

Ven's head came up and the milk sloshed wildly in the mug. "I didn't..."

"I haven't rescinded that permission, pet," Drusus pointed out. "I am not the sort of man to punish anyone for saying anything if they have permission to speak freely."

"Told you I can trus' you," Ven muttered to his drink, with a watery attempt at a smile.

"But you can't right now because things aren't normal again, isn't that what you said? Drink up; we need to recalibrate, I think."

Ven swallowed. There was still some milk in the bottom of his mug when he put it back on the table.

"This needs to come off, and then you can lie over my knee," Drusus said, tugging at the blanket. "This is not punishment, but recalibration. It will still hurt."

"Yes, Master," Ven said, with something close to gratitude in his voice as he stood, dropping the blanket before taking his position over his master's knee. It was not a position he liked, particularly; it reinforced his helplessness and vulnerability, but Drusus liked it, liked having that pretty arse thrust up, begging for his attention.

"You are my good brave boy, Ven," he said, running a hand over the expanse of that very pretty arse. Ven wriggled momentarily, stilling as Drusus' hand kept stroking. "You need not count."

"Thank you, Master," Ven said to the floor, and clasped his hands behind his head as the first swats landed.

"Such a pretty bum," Drusus told him. 

The rhythm was calming, cathartic. Ven's reactions were familiar – the hitch of his breath, the tightening of his hands, the reflexive kick as the sting grew. The abortive wriggle, and the sobs and tears as the pain built.

Ven had been right, of course; Drusus had needed this as much as Ven had – if his slave had decided this would be some sort of punishment or penance for his failure to take the whipping last week, that was up to him. It was helping Drusus centre himself; maybe he had got it wrong, but he had stopped when it was obvious Ven really could not take it.

He had no idea how long this smacking had been going on for when Ven's breath hitched again and he slumped over Drusus' knee, going completely pliant and submissive.

"Up you get, pet," Drusus told him, stroking the red tender flesh of his boy's buttocks. "You can stand facing the wall there till it's time to dress for breakfast."

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."

"You're a silly boy sometimes – but you're my boy, Ven. My good boy."

"Yours, Master."

**Author's Note:**

>  _lararium_ \- the shrine to the household gods  
>  _pecūlium_ \- pocket-money, a slave's saving fund for his freedom  
>  _paterfamilias_ \- head of a household


End file.
